Seasons
by Polaris'05
Summary: With each season there is a shift, a change – something that makes each season unique from the other, yet none can exist separately. Oneshot drabble of our four boys and how, like the seasons, they may be unique, but could not exist without each other.


_A/N: I see so many fantastic drabbles going up these days, it was hard not to be inspired. Anyone who wants some really awesome drabble sets to read, I HIGHLY recommend Mikell's acrostic series (she's up to Michelangelo now) or Diva Danielle's Paradox and Enigmas. And while we're on the subject, huge thanks go to Mikell for beta-ing this - you are SUPERB, hon! And also thanks to Danni, the most encouraging and enthusiastic fan I've ever had. And also thanks to Drea, for pretty much writing the summary for me! =D All of you rock. _

* * *

Spring is amazing, when one really stops to think about it. After so many bitter months of snow and ice, all of a sudden the clouds part. The weather clears. The air grows warm. And the trees, the plants… where before there was nothing at all, everything springs to life practically overnight.

Donny, he's just like that.

When the turtles were only very tiny children, Splinter had feared that this one might not be like the others. The other three were already talking (in fact, it was now hard to make them _stop_) but Donatello never said a word; he just sat, staring at the world around him with a curious eye. Splinter was beginning to fear this one wasn't as intelligent as the others, that he might never speak at all. He feared for him; in a world that would not understand his physical differences, let alone… How would he survive? And then one day, out of the blue, he began speaking – not baby talk, but full-length conversations with Splinter, using words that the rat had never heard, on subjects that the rat didn't understand.

Overnight, he'd discovered that his quiet child was, far from being stupid, a genius.

Like the transformation of empty twigs to full-blooming flowers, Donny has the uncanny ability to take a heap of old, rusty, metal parts and turn them into something amazing. Where before there had been nothing there was suddenly… creation.

That's what Donny is. He's creation.

And, just like the earth feels a blessed relief of a warm breeze after a long winter, Donny provides that same relief for his family. He puts new life into his brothers when they are injured, or sick. He heals their wounds and speaks with the soft warmth of a spring afternoon, soothing their hearts and spirits.

It's refreshing, after how long of fighting for survival. In the spring, fighting isn't necessary. Why fight? There are more important things happening. Why think of destruction? There are bigger things going on. Not destruction, but creation.

Spring is the season of nurturing. The newly young, who could never have survived the cold early months, find sanctuary in the spring. Donny is a sanctuary. A quiet word, a ready ear, a comforting shoulder, Don carries the world into the freshly dawning year with confidence and grace.

Like spring, Donny is all gentleness and calm. He's the smile of the sun after the winter. He's hope for things to come. He is spring.

oOo oOo oOo

Mikey is the living embodiment of summer. Mikey is everything that summer stands for, everything that it represents. Summer means freedom, warmth, fun, energy. Mikey is all of these things, and more.

Freedom? Oh yeah, he's got it. There are certain, unalienable benefits to being the baby of the family. Freedom is _definitely_ one of those benefits. Let the older turtles take care of the responsibilities. As long as he keeps up in training and holds up his end of the fights they get in, he's pretty much free to goof off as much as he pleases. Skating, video games, or just good old-fashioned pranks… he is free as a bird, as summer is meant to be.

More than that, though, Mikey doesn't just take freedom, but offers it willingly to others. With Mikey, it's ok to crack a smile. With Mikey, it's fine to kick back and relax for a while. With Mikey, people tend to find themselves forgetting what had been worrying them so badly before. It's summer, after all… why worry?

Warmth? Mikey is about as far away from cold as Shredder is from friendly. His days are filled with sunshine, and skies as pure blue as his own eyes. Of course, even Mikey has rainy days… days where there is nothing to do but sit indoors and wait out the storm, watching it pour down through the unrelenting glass of the window. But even then, there is only grey… never cold.

And that's the great thing about summer. Even the worst storms can't last forever. Mikey can't stay down for long. Sometimes the rain only lasts a few short minutes, and then the sun is out all the brighter as though it had never left at all. That's just the nature of summer.

Fun? The name is Mikey. Even when he has driven Raph to the point of bodily injury, or Master Splinter to pulling his own whiskers out, or Donny to stupefied exasperation, or Leo to the brink of insanity, there is never a dull moment in the Hamato home. Everything is a game, everything is a joke… everything is a summer's day.

And energy… oh shell, is he abounding with _that_. It's what drives Mikey forward, farther and faster than his brothers. It's what keeps him going, still running on a full tank long after his brothers have exhausted themselves. Energy, born of the knowledge that it is a sunny, summer day, and that the next one will be, too. Energy that fuels his laughter, feeds his giddy joy, becomes his light. Summer is for the young at heart.

Because, even if there are cold days ahead, it's hard to fear them in the blissful safety of summer. That's why it is so much like Mikey.

oOo oOo oOo

Raph, now, _he_ is like autumn. There's something powerful, majestic, even frightening about autumn. It's a stunning visual representation of death itself. It's a fireworks display, a show of power. It's a promise.

Everyone knows that, for all its beauty, autumn is the herald of certain and imminent death. Raph is like that, too. A lot of the time, he's just big words, big talk. Other times, though? Try hurting his family. Just try. Raph becomes the harbinger of death. There's no empty threats there, no bluff… only the promise of destruction to anyone who dares lay a hand on his brothers.

No exceptions.

Even in the face of coming death, though, autumn is breathtaking to behold. The end is coming, the days of cold and dark approach as surely as the setting sun. Everything could just fall over and die suddenly – after all, that's what's coming – but instead it all comes suddenly to a life even fuller and brighter than ever before. The world becomes a flash of color. The trees rustle in defiance of their coming death, their foliage transforming into brilliant oranges, powerful reds, and furious yellows.

It would be easy for autumn to be acceptance of the end, but it's not. It's refusal. Refusal to leave the world in a blanket of cold without one final word. Refusal to allow the warmth of summer to fade away quietly into the tomb.

It's like Raph. If he is going down, he's going to go down in a blaze of glory, in a display that his enemies will remember. He will show them what true strength is. He will remind them that winter will come for them, just as they came for him. Fiery and fighting to the very end, that's Raph.

The air becomes a little bitterer during autumn, with a little less warmth in the world. The wind cuts a little deeper. Not because it means any harm, but because it knows what's coming; it's staring death in the face, and it's simply protecting itself. Nothing personal.

And for all that it's growing colder… who can tear their eyes away? The raw majesty is seductive, the colors hypnotizing.

Raph is the same. He's all the power in the entire force of nature, concentrated into one vessel of rebellion. Rebellion… he _isn't_ going to go quietly. He_ isn't_ going to lie down and die. Because he's like autumn.

oOo oOo oOo

Leo, see, he's like winter. To casual eyes, winter is nothingness… it's cold, barren, empty… lifeless. It would be easy to make the mistake of seeing Leo the same way. It's true, he trains non-stop, cares little for worldly comforts, and shelves personal emotions. It would be easy to believe he is cold and unfeeling because he puts honor and duty before everything. He doesn't laugh and goof off as the others do.

The truth is, though, Leo is neither cold nor unfeeling. He trains as hard as he does _because_ he is not. He does not feel nothing… he feels everything. This is his responsibility, as the leader. He has to know what the others are thinking, what they're feeling.

He has to know if Donny is feeling distracted by a technological problem at home and might not be paying as close attention as he should during battle. He has to know if Raph is feeling as though he has something to prove to Leo because he'd been scolded in training, and might be even more reckless than usual. He has to know if Mikey is feeling in top form today, and that he should focus on the others and let Mikey handle himself.

Likewise, winter, to the right eyes – attentive eyes – is hardly nothingness. Quite the contrary, on a quiet winter day, it's suddenly easier to feel more than one could ever believe possible. It's teeming with life that's hidden from the untrained, foolish eyes; life that is even stronger by simple virtue of the fact that it can survive in the winter. It's alert, crisp, precise. It's lethal to those who underestimate its power. Like Leo.

Winter is not just empty coldness. That's just the outward layer of pale, moonlit snow. The privileged and the wise, though… they see more. Underneath, it's peace. It's quiet tranquility. It's a time for healing and growth, which is what Leo does for his brothers… helps them to heal and grow by bearing the cold for the sake of their warmth.

Winter is constantly misunderstood, as is Leo. The truth is, though, without a break in the constant motion of the turning world, life could never exist. Without the period of rest, of silence, of rejuvenation, there would be no peaceful spring, no happy summer, no powerful autumn. The truth is, if winter _is_ death, it's the most beautiful death the world has ever seen.


End file.
